Friday, December 23, 2005

Calm before the Storm

Things have been quiet this week. I finished my classes and I've moved to Ramallah, which is so much better than living in Birzeit. Right now I'm waiting for some friends who are studying in Beirut to arrive in the West Bank, then tomorrow we will all head to Bethlehem for Christmas. Unfortunately, I did not realize that you have to arrange for tickets to the midnight mass at the Church of the Nativity in advance, but we will spend Christmas Eve in Manger Square if we can't actually get into the church . . . I do, however, hope that it stops raining before then.

I'm a little concerned about traveling to Bethlehem tomorrow because they have opened the new checkpoint at Kalandia, and Bethlehem, which will probably add an hour each to the travel time. Also, I will be traveling with a big bag because I will be staying in Bethlehem for the conference, which means I'll probably have to unpack it twice -- hopefully not in the rain.

Things are going to get pretty hectic in the next couple days, so I am trying to enjoy my down time while I can. I'm not sure if I will be able to post from Bethlehem, so if not, happy holidays to everyone.

Peace,
Sahar

Wednesday, December 21, 2005

Pilgrimage to 48 Land


On Monday last week, I traveled for the first time inside Israel (not including Jerusalem). I took a train all the way to the north of Israel, literally to the border between Israel and Lebanon. It’s not that I’ve been boycotting Israel exactly, I just felt that there was so much to see and do in the West Bank, that I could explore Israel next time . . .

The reason that I traveled all the way to Lebanon, practically, was to visit a village called Al-Bassa. Well, it used to be a village. It is in 1948 land, which means before 1948 Palestinians lived there, and after 1948 Israelis live there . . . I went to Al-Bassa, now called Scholomo, because a friend of mine from Syracuse is originally from the village, and he asked me to bring him back some soil, if I had time. Of course, I made time . . .

By the time I arrived in Al-Bassa it was already dark, but having been to southern Lebanon and from the train ride I can image how beautiful the area must be in daylight. My friend Bob accompanied me on the trip, so once we got to the closest train station to the area, we hailed a taxi and asked the driver if he had heard of Al-Bassa. He hadn’t, but he made some phone calls and drove around for a while until we finally found the right place.

It was obvious from the buildings around Al-Bassa that the area was very old, and we found the remains of both a church and a mosque, so apparently the Palestinian residents of Al-Bassa were both Christian and Muslim. Bob and I climbed down to the remains of the mosque, and I filled up my little plastic baggee with as much soil as it would hold.

The moment while I was scooping the soil with my hands and placing it in the bag was particularly poignant for me . . . I’m not Palestinian, but the thought of asking someone to perform this sort of pilgrimage, or ritual, for the sake of your family, your children and future generations touched something very deep in me. Sadly, this sort of trip is not unusual. There are many Palestinian families both in the West Bank and in the diaspora who have little containers of soil, old keys and ownership documention to houses that are inside Israel; and endless stories about their land, lives and homes before 1948.

Sunday, December 18, 2005

A Little Christmas Cheer

THE TWELVE DAYS OF CHRISTMAS (Occupation style)

On the first day of Christmas, Arik Sharon sent to me
An uprooted olive tree!

On the second day of Christmas, Arik Sharon sent to me
Two trampled doves
And an uprooted olive tree!

On the third day of Christmas, Arik Sharon sent to me
Three trench guns,
Two trampled doves,
And an uprooted olive tree!

On the fourth day of Christmas, Arik Sharon sent to me
Four falling bombs,
Three trench guns,
Two trampled doves,
And an uprooted olive tree!

On the fifth day of Christmas, Arik Sharon sent to me
Five settlement rings.
Four falling bombs,
Three trench guns,
Two trampled doves,
And an uprooted olive tree!

On the sixth day of Christmas, Arik Sharon sent to me
Six tanks a-rolling,
Five settlement rings.
Four falling bombs,
Three trench guns,
Two trampled doves,
And an uprooted olive tree!

On the seventh day of Christmas, Arik Sharon sent to me
Seven checkpoints blocking,
Six tanks a-rolling,
Five settlement rings.
Four falling bombs,
Three trench guns,
Two trampled doves,
And an uprooted olive tree!

On the eighth day of Christmas, Arik Sharon sent to me
Eight gun ships firing,
Seven checkpoints blocking,
Six tanks a-rolling,
Five settlement rings.
Four falling bombs,
Three trench guns,
Two trampled doves,
And an uprooted olive tree!

On the ninth day of Christmas, Arik Sharon sent to me
Nine smashed computers,
Eight gun ships firing,
Seven checkpoints blocking,
Six tanks a-rolling,
Five settlement rings.
Four falling bombs,
Three trench guns,
Two trampled doves,
And an uprooted olive tree!

On the tenth day of Christmas, Arik Sharon sent to me
Ten WALLS a surrounding,
Nine smashed computers,
Eight gun ships firing,
Seven checkpoints blocking,
Six tanks a-rolling,
Five settlement rings,
Four falling bombs,
Three trench guns,
Two trampled doves,
And an uprooted olive tree.

On the eleventh day of Christmas, Arik Sharon sent to me
Eleven homes demolished,
Ten WALLS a surrounding,
Nine smashed computers,
Eight gun ships firing,
Seven checkpoints blocking,
Six tanks a-rolling,
Five settlement rings.
Four falling bombs,
Three trench guns,
Two trampled doves,
And an uprooted olive tree!

On the twelfth day of Christmas, Arik Sharon sent to me
Twelve assassinations,
Eleven homes demolished,
Ten WALLS a surrounding,
Nine smashed computers,
Eight gun ships firing,
Seven checkpoints blocking,
Six tanks a-rolling,
Five settlement rings.
Four falling bombs,
Three trench guns,
Two trampled doves,
And an uprooted olive tree!

**I did not write this and can't take credit for it, this came from a forward from a friend

Thursday, December 15, 2005

Arrests and Soldiers


Feeling very overloaded today. After the protest yesterday, teargas, rubberbullets and all – I went to Jenin today. We just managed to slip out on a backroad as the tanks rolled into the main entrance of the city. Then, I found out that my friend, Omar, was arrested by the Israelis. Twenty years old, he had just found out that he won a scholarship to South America to go on a speaking tour for his church. He’s not at all religious, but he is very smart, and any way out is a way out . . . He was arrested because he is active in the Popular Front for the Liberation of Palestine. Apparently the Israelis wanted him because he had been hanging posters for his organization and spray painting (in Ramallah and Birzeit). He won’t be going anywhere now. They grabbed him out of car traveling between Ramallah and Birzeit after a celebration for PFLP (this week is their anniversary week), in the afternoon. Two of his friends were arrested with him, and two had been arrested the day before. He was expecting it . . .This is the same kid that I wrote about before – the one who said that each Palestinian life is only worth about 1 shekel, the price of a bullet.

We don’t know what will happen, but he will probably be held in detention for a couple months, then get a year or two in jail. For hanging posters. I’ve had several discussions with Omar about socialist political theory and the role of the international community in the conflict here. He reminds me a lot of Abdulla – but I guess I see my little brothers in most of the young men that I meet here . . . At one point he told me (after I had cornered him a discussion) that I was smart and cute . . . never mind that I’m 6 years older than him . . .

I feel sick to my stomach right now thinking of him in the interrogation cells of an Israeli prison. Especially considering that there was a suicide bombing this week and a soldier killed at Kalandia two days ago. . . not a good time to be in an Israeli jail. I don’t know what to think about any of this anymore. I’m glad that I will be going home soon – I’m beginning to lose my focus.


After I wrote this entry, I decided to go bed because my head was pounding so badly . . . I’d been in bed for about 15 minutes when I started hearing shooting, very very close. My street is a steep hill that leads down into a valley of olive groves, and the shooting was coming from there. It didn’t sound like the usual rifle shots, either – this sounded like heavier artillery (although I’m no expert). M and I got out of bed and were trying to watch out of her bedroom window (which faces the valley). She saw Israeli soldiers before I got there. We waited a while, then got back into bed. A couple minutes later I heard footsteps running on the street directly outside my window, and a shot that was so close I rolled out of my bed and laid on the floor with my head down until I was sure the footsteps had passed.

Friday, December 09, 2005

Jenin, Jenin


On Saturday I traveled to Jenin with R and D because I wanted to see explore the north parts of the West Bank, and because I wanted to visit the refugee camp in Jenin that is famous for the house demolitions and massacre that happened there in 2002. We knew that traveling to the north would be difficult, so we all met in Ramallah at 8am. Jenin is only about 1.5 to 2 hours north, but depending on checkpoints, it can take a very long to get there, and an even longer time to get home (as I found out).

I bumped into Tamer, a guy from Birzeit who studies at the Arab-American University in Jenin while I was waiting for R and D – talk about good luck – so we all traveled north together. This was great because Tamer new a taxi driver from the area, and we all got a good deal. It was interesting, because I learned that currently, Palestinians are only allowed to travel in the immediate vicinity of their IDs meaning that Tamer isn’t allowed to cross checkpoints heading to his university because his ID is from the Ramallah area. This meant we had to circumvent as many checkpoints as possible, and cross our fingers at the rest of them. Luckily, I thought to keep track of the checkpoints and military presence that we saw on our drive, and I even wrote down the exact times. Check this out:

9:10 – We passed through the permanent Atara checkpoint, just north of Birzeit.

9:20 – Flying checkpoint at the village of Turumus Aye. We literally turned right onto a path, drove around the checkpoint, and got back onto the main road. Most of the traffic was doing the same thing, and the Israeli soldiers watched us do it. So much for security.

9:27 – We passed through a permanent checkpoint at a roundabout (near a settlement). The didn’t even check our IDs

9:37 – Flying checkpoint in the village of Jeet

9:45 – Flying checkpoint at Deir Sharaf. Again, they didn’t check our IDs. After this checkpoint we left the main road and started driving down dirt paths and tiny villages to avoid more checkpoints.

10:15 – Kabati checkpoint

At this point we stopped at the Arab American University and Tamer gave us a tour of the campus. Then the driver took us to the refugee camp. We passed army jeeps on the side of the road on the way into Jenin, but they hadn’t set up a checkpoint yet, if that was their plan.

The refugee camp was very similar to the other camps that I’ve seen. Lots of houses stacked together in very close quarters, but there were a couple of unique elements. First, there is a huge statue in the center of the camp. It is a horse made out of scrap metal from all the cars and buildings that were destroyed by Israeli tanks during 2002. It is interesting because you can see license plates, shop names, and even an ambulance sign incorporated into the structure. Also, someone has been going around the camp and painting the walls with beautiful murals of nature scenes. Many of the scenes depict a crumbling wall with trees and flowers growing though the cracks. One of the murals was of an older woman wearing traditional Palestinian dress grasping the key to her family’s home in a fist held above her head, with blood dripping from her clenched palm onto the ground. I asked a local shop owner who the artist was, and he said he wasn’t sure, but that is was someone from the camp.

We also visited the area where the homes were demolished in 2002. No one is clear on how many people died – between 50 and 100 – a whole area of the camp was bulldozed (sometimes with people still inside the homes) and Jenin was under siege for several weeks overall. NGOs have donated money for the families to rebuild their homes, so the area has houses again, not just rubble. Interestingly, the shiny new homes are only marred by one thing – bullet holes. Throughout the camp you can see evidence of the IDF through bullet holes and broken windows. The new homes are no exception.

We walked from the camp to the city (not very far) and ate lunch at a little restaurant whose walls were covered with political posters, cartoons, and commentary. The chicken sandwiches were awesome, as was the cappuccino. We walked around the town, took some pictures, and I bought Meshari’s Christmas present while we were there. I asked the store owner to pack Meshari’s gift carefully because I was traveling back to Ramallah that afternoon. He paused, and said, “You can’t go to Ramallah today – the soldiers are closing the roads south right now. They are here in the city already.”

Oh shit.

R, D and I raced to the taxi stand to find that the store owner was right – the roads were closed. Now, I like to think of myself as a fairly average person in the bravery department – and I had absolutely no interest in staying overnight in Jenin. I’ve heard enough about what happens in Jenin when the soldiers come in that I knew I didn’t want to be there. So, after some panicked discussion, R, D and I decided we’d rather take our chances in Nablus than Jenin, so we got into a service headed that way (still south, closer to home). Suddenly a man starts calling for Ramallah – I guess one crazy driver decided to try to make it to Ramallah despite the closures. We hopped out of the Nablus service, and into the ancient station wagon that would navigate me safely down deer paths and up mountains in ways that I didn’t think SUVs could handle.

Our driver was a young guy from a village north of Nablus. He didn’t say much, but he was an amazing driver and he seemed very determined to get to Ramallah. We think there was a girl there waiting for him, but it is all speculation. We couldn’t leave Jenin the same way we came in, so we ended up driving on a road parallel to the main road, but quite a bit above it. This meant that I had a fantastic view of Israeli army jeeps and tanks that were scattered across the road and blocking the entrance to the city – I even got a picture. Our return trip was longer, with more off-roading and checkpoints than the trip up to Jenin. Lucky for you, I recorded it.

2:32 – Main entrance to Jenin is closed by Israeli soldiers
2:38 – Off roading in ancient station wagon.

3:15 – Try to return to the main road, but another car, trying to get off the main road, is blocking the exit from our path. Our driver gets out of the car and starts moving a pile of stones to make enough room to squeeze past the other car. Our driver gets stuck, everyone pushes.

3:25 – Back on the main road. Hit checkpoint traffic jam. Our driver wants none of it, so we start off-roading again, get around the checkpoint, then car gets stuck on the steep incline back onto the road.

3:35 – Everyone pushes, then jump into taxi and take off quickly before we get caught.

3:36 – pass an IDF jeep on the road

3:38 – Flying checkpoint. This one isn’t letting any cars through, at all. Our driver decided to take a chance and use the settler road, which is illegal for Palestinians, because he has three Americans in the car.

3:45 – Another flying checkpoint. No way around this one, so we had to wait.

4:02 – cleared the checkpoint

4:04 – the infamous Zatara checkpoint south of Nablus. At this point, I and all the smokers in the car just get out to have cigarettes because it is obvious that we won’t be going anywhere for a while.

4:38 – we clear the checkpoint, but our driver isn’t allowed to pass. His ID is from the Nablus area, so he is forbidden to travel to the Ramallah district. We tried to talk to the soldier. The soldier said our driver couldn’t pass because he might be a suicide bomber. I said, well, check him and the car and let us through. The soldier refused. At one point he almost agreed that the rule was ridiculous, but he wouldn’t let our driver pass. I felt really bad for him, in the end all we could do was tip him well.

4:48 – checkpoint.

4:55 – clear checkpoint.

I think I got home around 6pm, almost four hours after I left Jenin. Of course, I was lucky to get home at all. According to the newspapers, over 1,000 Palestinians were trapped on the roads at checkpoints that day.

Thursday, December 08, 2005

Onions and Tear Gas


Today, I participated in my first strategic nonviolent action. I’ve been to plenty of protests, rallies and marches in the US, but this was a whole new experience. After today, I have decided that I am going to start running when I get home – I got lots of running in today, and some climbing, falling and yelling.

Every Friday for the last year, the International Solidarity Movement (ISM) stages nonviolent actions in the village of Bil’in which is about a half away outside of Ramallah. The Wall is being built directly next to the village, and has cut the residents off from their farmland and other resources. Once a week for the last year, the villagers have thought up different actions to implement at the protest. They have used different tactics like carrying mirrors so that the soldiers could see what they looked like . . . today the goal was to plant three olive trees in the area that has been destroyed by the Wall. The Palestinians are the one who think of the initiatives and carry them out; the internationals are there to provide a barrier between the Palestinians and the soldiers and to try and keep the level of violence down. Unfortunately, the life of an international is of higher value than a Palestinian life in the eyes of the Israeli government (or at the international media), so that is where we came in.

We (R, D, Dave and I) arrived in Bil’in a little after 11 and we met up with the ISMers. I had met some of them during the training or in other places around Ramallah, but there were a lot of people there that I didn’t know, including a big Israeli citizen presence, which impressed me a great deal. These are Israelis who oppose the Wall, and they were the ones who took the biggest risks during the protest, from what I could see. When the noon prayer ended, the internationals joined the locals and we all started marching towards the Wall. We were singing songs and chants in Arabic, clapping, and carrying signs, one of which said, “We are not your enemies”. As we marched down the road towards the Wall, we could see a group of soldiers standing and waiting for us.

We didn’t get very far down the road – we were still pretty far from the soldiers – when they started shooting tear gas canisters at us. Now, I’ve never experienced tear gas before, but the ISM training warned us about it so I was prepared. D and R and chopped about 4 onions into halves and put them in a plastic ziplock bag before we left Ramallah. The onions help cut the tear gas fumes. That said, the first round of canisters was close enough to me that I ended up with tears running down my face and I had difficulty breathing for a couple minutes, even with the onions. I guess some of the more experienced protesters said it was unusual for the soldiers to shoot the tear gas so early on in the afternoon . . . they were probably a little trigger happy because of the soldier that was stabbed and killed at the Kalandia checkpoint the day before – but that is another story . . .

We all sort of scattered when the soldiers started shooting the canisters (which can actually be really dangerous if you get hit by one, or if you are too close. Some people were vomiting from the fumes). But, after about 10 minutes we regrouped and continued with our march towards the soldiers. Now, I would be lying if I didn’t say that this is one of the scariest things that I have ever done. I was shaking from the adrenaline, the tear gas, and my fear of walking towards people carrying very big guns . . . the terrain was very rocky, and we had to climb onto an area that was basically a big pile of broken rocks – not the best time to be feeling shaky.

We climbed up onto the rocks, and some of the protesters started singing and chanting, and some of them were engaging the soldiers in conversation and debate. I hung back a little because I knew that if things got messy, a whole lot of internationals and Palestinians were going to come flying, falling, and slipping down the pile of sharp rocks. After a while, I noticed some of the young Palestinian boys, ranging between 7 and 12, were taunting one of the young soldiers. I started edging over towards the boys, climbing up onto the rocks, and pulled out my camera. I wanted to make sure that the soldiers saw me taking pictures of them and the boys. Eventually, one of the soldiers grabbed one of the boys (who was saying insulting things to him in Arabic, but hadn’t touched him or physically threatened him in any way) and before I could even move, one of the Israeli protesters was there, screaming at the soldier in Hebrew and dragging the boy away from him. It was a sight that I will never forget: an 18 year old boy in full soldier gear (helmet, camo uniform, guns) grabbing an 8 year old Palestinian boy and trying to push him down the sharp rocks. I especially won’t forget it because I got a picture of it.

The ISMers decided that it was time to try and plant the trees – and that is when things started to escalate. The soldiers wouldn’t let them plant the trees, so Palestinians were passing the trees between them, trying to get to a place where they could plant it; internationals were trying to keep between the soldiers and the Palestinians; and I was trying not to kill myself on the damn rocks.

Eventually, one of the soldiers grabbed one of the internationals and threw him down onto the the ground. The other internationals jumped in and grabbed him – they actually managed to pull him away from the soldiers. Then, another soldier grabbed another guy; he was hitting the man, and the man was trying to back up and get away – they both ended up falling down part of the rocks. Once the soldier landed on the ground he pulled out his gun and everyone started running. Fortunately (and I really mean that, I was lucky) I had moved slightly away from the place where the two guys fell down just minutes before this happened. R, D, and I found each other and started running together.

This is when the Palestinian boys started throwing rocks. It took R, D and I a minute to realize that we were running in the same direction as the rock throwers, and we were between them and the soldiers – not a good place to be. I figure when all the Palestinians are running for their lives, I should too, but I would prefer to not be between them and their soldier targets when they start lobbing rocks at them. The soldiers started shooting rubber bullets and tear gas canisters again. We crouched down behind a wall and an ambulance and kept our heads down for a couple of minutes. I guess the Palestinians started throwing rocks when the soldiers started following the running protesters to keep the soldiers out of the village.

Damages: one guy got hit in the foot with a rubber bullet, one protester got hit by a rock (friendly fire), and the Israeli guy who got between the soldier and the boy was arrested.

The internationals regrouped after a while and headed back towards the soldiers, but things were winding down by then. The Palestinians kept throwing stones, even though the soldiers were too far away to hit, and the soldiers kept throwing tear gas canisters at us. I think we managed to plant two of the trees, although I’m sure the soldiers ripped them up after we retreated.

The protest lasted about two hours, and R, D and I were back in Ramallah just after 3pm. I fully support what ISM is doing, and I knew that nonviolent resistance is hard, dangerous work, but I didn’t fully comprehend what it is like to voluntarily stand in front of someone with a gun – to stand between that gun and another person – until today. I’m not sure that I have the guts to do nonviolence resistance. I guess I’ll have to go back next week and find out.

Wednesday, December 07, 2005

Random Thoughts


1. I want to make a bumper sticker that says: Jesus was Palestinian

2. I feel like I’ve been flying a fighter for the Rebellion during my time here, but when I go back and do my year service requirement with the US government I’ll be working on the Death Star.

3. Why is it historically inaccurate to make comparisons between the checkpoints in the Palestine and some of the techniques used by the Nazis pre-holocaust, but it is okay for Seinfeld to make an entire episode about the Soup Nazi? Why is it socially acceptable to use the term femi-nazi, but not to point out that color coded ID cards that state religion are reminiscent of Nazi Germany?

4. Why am I a foreigner to the Arabs, an Arab to the Israelis, and exotic to Americans?

5. Why do Palestinians love Celion Dione?

6. Why does being pro-Palestinian equal being anti-Semitic?

7. It is very important to enunciate the word al-Quds (the name for Jerusalem) in Arabic, because al –Cus means something else entirely.

8. How is the wall securing Israel when it is trapping over a million Palestinians inside the wall, on the Israeli side?

9. Why can I remember the words to hundreds of songs, but I can’t remember my weekly vocabulary words?

10. Why do these lists always come in tens?

Cycles of Violence and Retribution

There was a suicide bombing near Tel Aviv a couple of days ago. Five people were killed, and about 50 injured. The bomber came from a village in between the cities of Tulqarem and Jenin, in the north of the West Bank. This is the area that the Israeli army has been focusing on the last two months. There have near daily arrests and weekly shootings/ killings/ assassinations for almost eight weeks. Funny how that doesn’t seem to make it onto the 11 o’clock news. Apparently the IDF has requested permission to bulldoze the home of the family of the suicide bomber, as a form of punishment. They have already arrested his father and brothers.

Which came first, the chicken or the egg?

The night of the suicide bombing (which happened around 11 am in a shopping mall) the IDF retaliated not only by arresting the family of the bomber, but also by shelling Gaza City. Now, I haven’t quite figured out the Gaza connection – Gaza is hours south of Tulqarem. This has become a new tactic since the Israeli settlers were removed from Gaza; whenever something happens in the West Bank, Gaza gets hit.

I wish that I could have visited Gaza during my time here, but it is nearly impossible to get permission to enter Gaza from the IDF without proof of sponsorship from a company that is employing you. Even then it is difficult. Gaza has very few international observers or journalists, so when things happen there no one knows what is going on. To be honest, I’m a little relieved that I couldn’t get into to Gaza, I’m not sure how well I would handle it.

On Friday I’m planning on attending a protest against the wall in a village called Aboud, then on Saturday I’m going to head up to Jenin. I’ve heard that the northern parts of the West Bank are absolutely beautiful, especially during the rainy winter season – I can’t wait.

Friday, December 02, 2005

Strange Bedpartners

Today I feel sad. And no, it is not because of the Arabic midterm that I took today – although I would like to complain about having a midterm two weeks before the final . . . Today is Dec 1, and I will be traveling across the border to Jordan in exactly one month. I think that during the last three months, my emotions regarding the occupation have pretty consistently ranged between outrage, anger, frustration and helplessness. Now, I’m starting to feel worn out. I am looking forward to seeing everyone at home, but I am disappointed by how little I’ve done during my time here. I’ve been busy, but I feel that there is so much work that needs to be done . . .

I’d to share a story with everyone that another student told me about his teacher. One of the teachers at Birzeit wrote a poem that has been nominated to become the national anthem of Palestine if/when it becomes an independent state. The poem is about one of her experiences while she was imprisoned in an Israeli jail for three years. Apparently, the prison was overcrowded, so for a while she was sharing a cell with a Palestinian man. They each spent 12 hours in the cell, but never the same twelve hours. He had the cell during the day, while she was moved to a separate part of the prison, and she had it at night, while he was being tortured. She never met him during her time in prison, but she shared a bed with him, and she heard him screaming every night while he was tortured. At some point during their imprisonment, she starting singing Palestinian revolutionary and folks songs at night, so that he could hear her voice and know that he wasn’t alone.

Tonight I went to an art exhibit in one of the cultural centers in Ramallah. The artists were all local people who participated in a workshop this semester. During the workshop the artists were exposed to the stories of Palestinian women who suffered from abuse, both domestic and from the occupation. The students used the stories to create images around the theme of women and abuse in Palestine. There were some really moving pieces, especially since each print was inspired by a real woman’s story. I thought it was an interesting way to address the very serious problem of domestic abuse. Many of the artists concentrated on images that highlighted the strength of women survivors, although there were also images of pain and suffering. I bought a print that shows a line of women marching across the bottom of the page in single file. The women are vague stick figure shapes, and an ominous crimson sky is pressing down on them. I think the figures represent generations of women following in each others steps, and the sky represents the repressiveness of society on women’s individuality. Of course, I could be wrong . . .

Traffic Jam


Yesterday I decided to skip my colloquial Arabic class and head down to Ramallah in the morning. Now, before you accuse me of being lazy, I’d like to explain that I was heading to Ramallah to use my friend’s high-speed internet connection to do research, work on conference stuff, and look for an apartment in DC (okay, and send out some emails, download some music, and just surf). Marcy had been staying with my for a couple days (she’s based in Amman at the moment) and she was heading back to Jordan, so we set off together. Because she had a huge bag with her, we decided to splurge and take a private taxi. . .

We got about 10 minutes outside of Birzeit before we hit a checkpoint. Well, we didn’t actually hit the checkpoint, we hit the traffic that was backed up for over a mile in each direction of the Surda area. This is one of the Israelis favorite places to set up flying checkpoints in the Ramallah area. Our taxi driver became very agitated and started insisting that Ramallah was closed (which was nonsense) and wanted to drive all the way to a town just outside of Jerusalem and try entering Ramallah from the other side. Most of the people in public transportation were just getting out of the taxis and services and walking. This is nothing new for them, last year or the year before this section of the road between Ramallah and Birzeit was closed by the Israelis for months. No cars were allowed to pass, and everyone had to walk 2 kilometers each way. My Arabic teacher told us that at that point, the value of donkeys increased dramatically because they were the only way to transport goods, the sick and the elderly between the two places . . .

I was in a bit of dilemma because my computer was already at R and D’s, and I knew that they had plans to leave Ramallah early that morning. If they left before I picked up the apartment key, my plans of a very productive day were going to be destroyed. After a few minutes of discussion, I said goodbye to Marcy and decided to walk through the checkpoint and hopefully catch a service on the other side to take me rest of the way. Marcy’s bag was much too heavy to walk (it was down into a valley and then back up) so she backroaded it with the taxi towards Jerusalem.

It was an absolutely beautiful morning for a walk, not too cold and sunny, and it would have been really enjoyable except for all the exhaust fumes from the traffic jam and weaving necessary to avoid cars and droves of people. On the way I ran into B, who lives in Ramallah and was walking to Birzeit – to attend the very class that I was skipping. We talked for a couple minutes, and he decided to ditch the class and walk back to Ramallah with me. We had a funny moment when he asked me where the checkpoint was, thinking it was closer to Birzeit, while I thought it was closer to Ramallah. While we were discussing this oddity, a truck crammed full of Palestinian police drove by. Palestinian police are never around when Israelis are around, so that was when we realized that it wasn’t actually an Israeli checkpoint, but was some kind of Palestinian Authority checkpoint/ security measure.

We walked along and eventually caught a service into Ramallah. Once there we stopped in a little store and I asked the owner what was going on. He started going off about the Israelis . . . so we stopped in another store and the owner there told us that the PA was checking all the services to make sure they only had seven passengers per van. No one seemed to know what was going on for sure, so B and I met R and D for breakfast, then I headed to their apartment and soaked up all the internet time I could.

On the way home that night, I noticed that the service I was riding in had removed one of the benches of seats . . . leaving only seven seats for passengers. I’m really surprised that the PA would set up a checkpoint, in the same place that the Israelis do, and hold up all the morning traffic just to check the number of seats in the services. I’m not sure if that is the whole story, but it seems pretty ridiculous if it is.

Mountain of Fire


On Sunday I traveled about an hour north into the mountains to spend the day exploring Nablus. For those of you who have seen the movie Paradise Now, this is the city the movie is set in. Nablus is famous throughout Palestine for her kanafa, a traditional dessert. The city is nicknamed “Mountain of Fire” because of its citizen’s activism during and before Intifada and their resistance to the occupation. Nablus has paid dearly for her activism, being one of the hardest hit by the Israelis during this Intifada – literally by bombing and invasions into the city – and economically. The bombings in 2002 killed dozens of inhabitants and damaged over 500 buildings. Unfortunately, the bombing was concentrating in Nablus’ old city, Al Casbah, which is residential area, and it destroyed some of the oldest buildings in Palestine. Directly next to Nablus is Al-Balata refugee camp, the biggest refugee camp in the West Bank with most of its residents originally coming from Jaffa and the Galilee. Al-Balata is know as being a very rough place, even when the Israelis aren’t around . . . one of the things it is famous for is the number of stolen cars from Israel that seem to find their way there . . .

Nablus is also completely surrounded by settlements. There are seven of them dotting the hilltops around the city, and each of them has a checkpoint. Settlements are areas in the West Bank, on the Palestinian side of the Green Line, where Jewish Zionists squat on the land. They start out small, and it doesn’t take long for them to grow into cities, complete with barbed wire and electric fencing surrounding the settlements, soldiers stationed to protect them, and tax exempt status. Once settlers are in an area, the Israelis create special roads that only settlers can travel on (by taking more Palestinian land), reroute water supplies, and demolish homes and confiscate land that is too close to the settlement – for the safety of the settlers, of course.

I traveled to Nablus with three other students, one of whom is actually an American-Jewish student at Hebrew University who has described himself to me as a Zionist. I wasn’t sure what to expect from Nablus, but it wasn’t the incredibly warm welcome that we received. After walking through the infamous Hawara checkpoint, we caught a cab into the Old City and wandered around for a while. Hawara is infamous for the severity of the soldiers who man it. About a month ago a Palestinian woman attacked a soldier with a knife and cut her. The soldiers shot her in the legs and left her there to bleed to death. They wouldn’t allow anyone to help her.

After eating some falafel, we decided to go in search of one of the soap factories (another thing Nablus is know for). We asked for directions from a local man, and were led to the site where the 13th century soap factory had existed before 2002.

While at the site (which is basically an empty lot) we met a local man at the adjacent site (an ancient hotel that had also been damaged in the bombing, but was still standing) who was doing restoration work. He gave us a tour of the site, in Arabic, then insisted that we join him in his office for Arabic coffee. After the coffee he assigned two of his students/ employees to give us a free tour of the city. The guys were between the ages of 18-20 and they gave us a three hour tour. They showed us two Turkish baths, one of which had a vividly colorful modern mural on the ceiling, a candy factory, and a pre-Ottoman palace that had been bombed during 2002. The ruins were pretty cool, we got to climb around and go exploring. Only two of us got to see everything because you had to climb over a narrow catwalk at one point to access the rest of the palace (the walkway had been damaged in the bombing). One of the guys was afraid of heights, and M is always more sensible than I am. But, I did get some awesome pictures. When is the last time you saw an orange grove growing in the middle of the ruins of a palace?

Our guides also showed us the memorial put up by the local people remembering the massacre of 2002. The plaque says in English and Arabic “Never Forgive, Never Forget”. It is across the street from a home that was bombed and a family was buried alive underneath the rubble. Because of the bombings and curfews, uninjured people weren’t allowed to help people trapped in destroyed homes. In the open area next to the plaque, a group of youngish boys were playing a pick-up game of soccer.

There aren’t a lot of foreigners wandering around the streets of Nablus at the moment (wonder why) so we were attracting attention everywhere that we went. At one point, an older man dressed in a suit and smoking a sheesha stopped us because he wanted to know where we were from etc . . . In near perfect English, he explained to us that while he wanted to be our friend, he couldn’t, because of what the US government is doing to his people. He talked about Condy, Chainey and Bush in great detail and how disappointed he was with the West for their continued financial and political support of Israel. At one point he pulled a 15 year old out of the growing crowd of listeners and he said, “This baby deserves the same opportunities, the rights to live as your babies in America.” I couldn’t have agreed with him more.

Next our tour guides led us to Al-Aqsa Sweets, which is the most famous kanafa restaurant in all of Nablus, and therefore Palestine. They insisted on buying kanafa for all four of us, and after we ate they took us across the street and showed us where an elderly man was preparing the trays of kanafa from scratch.

After a few pictures we parted with our guides to head to the summit of the mountain, the home of the Samaritans. Yes, I mean The Samaritans, as in the Good Samaritan, the ones from the story in the Bible. The Samaritans are an interesting group of people. They are Jewish, but consider themselves Palestinians. They speak Arabic amongst themselves, but they also speak both modern and ancient Hebrew. A very small community, they have a reputation for being a little odd – partially due to their isolation and partially due to a lot of inbreeding (although I can’t verify that). We climbed to the very top of the mountain and saw the site where Abraham supposedly brought his son to sacrifice him on God’s orders, according to the Old Testament. The view from the top of the mountain was one of the most beautiful that I’ve seen during my time here. I think I must type that line in every entry in my blog – but this was really breathtaking.

We stopped for tea, and G asked one of the Samaritans working at the restaurant how the relationship was between this community and the Palestinians. He didn’t even hesitate before responding, “Very Good”. When he was asked the same question about the settlement that is just past the Samaritan village, he said, “Very Bad”. The Israelis put up a checkpoint to protect the settlement on the other side of the Samaritan village, but instead of putting it between the Samaritans and the settlement, they put it between Nablus and the Samaritans. So far it doesn’t seem to have driven a wedge between the Palestinians and Samaritans, but who knows how long it will last.

We left the village just as it was getting dark, and none of us suggested staying in Nablus any later. The Israelis enter the city almost every night, so went straight down the mountain from Samaria to the Hawara checkpoint. Unfortunately, we bypassed the checkpoint because we on a settler road. I really wanted to experience Hawara first hand after all that I’ve heard about it . . .

Yesterday, the Israelis entered Nablus to arrest two Palestinians and ended up injuring 10, including a 14 year old boy who got hit in the head with a bullet. I couldn’t help but wonder if he was one of the kids that I saw playing soccer on Sunday . . .